


In The Public Interest

by lightofdaye



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Casual Sex, Cow Girl, Cunnilingus, Doggy Style, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Missionary Position, Sex God
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 07:14:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8880820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightofdaye/pseuds/lightofdaye
Summary: Ace Reporter Pansy Parkinson asks the real questions: Is Neville a sex god?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Interhouse Fest 2016](http://interhouse-fest.livejournal.com/133342.html) On livejournal

She wore the lowest cut robes and the most pushing of push-up bras that she dared to wear outside a nightclub. She did her make up with a similar level of effort, bold enough to be noticed, not enough to seem obvious and only as an afterthought did Pansy Parkinson stuff parchment, pens and list of questions into her bag for the interview. 

Neville Longbottom was leaving the respected Auror Department at the Ministry Of Magic for a job in Herbology at Hogwarts, and not even a professorship but just a basic assistant teaching position. Which was a remarkable enough change for the _Daily Prophet_ to send her to do an interview; a human interest fluff piece. Of course, Pansy wouldn’t be herself if she didn’t have an ulterior motive. 

They met in a café in Diagon Alley. It was the first time that Pansy had seen him up close in years. There'd been plenty of photos of him in the press though and lots of stories circulating about him, both in press and outside of it and as a rule he looked good in them but there was something different about him in person. Something just a little more hesitant, a little more abashed that made him seem much more like the nervous boy from Hogwarts rather than a rough, tough Auror. Then again, perhaps that was exactly why he was changing careers.

He half-rose out of his seat and hovered awkwardly as she approached. 

“Ms. Parkinson,” he greeted her.

“Please call me Pansy, Neville,” she said, not waiting for him to respond before claiming the use of his first name for her own. “And thank you for coming. Have you ordered?”

“Oh. No,” he said, sinking back into his chair. 

Pansy called a waitress over with one imperious wave of her hand and ordered a pot of tea for two, noting with a hint of amusement that even while she ordered, the waitress’ eyes and smile were directed more in Neville’s direction than hers.

The tea arrived in admirably short order, thought the waitress tried to linger. Pansy took firm hold of the teapot’s handle and saw her off with a pointed glance before serving them both.

“Milk? Sugar?”

“Just milk please,” Neville said cautiously. 

“I’m afraid the questions only get harder from here,” Pansy said with a smirk.

“Oh dear.” Neville’s face fell. “Well, I hope you’ll go easy on me.”

“Depends how you’d like to convince me,” Pansy drawled, leaning in slightly. Neville avoided her gaze and Pansy let him go for now, instead pulling out her questions and a self-inking quill.

“Now, Neville. You’re very well known to our readers. Both as leader of Dumbledore’s Army...”

“I didn’t lead! That was Harry. I just sort of filled in for him.”

“-And aside from your self-effacing nature, also well known as an effective and respected Auror. And yet, you are giving it all up to become a school teacher, why is that?” 

“I don’t see that it’s any less of a calling than being an Auror. Being entrusted with the next generation of the wizarding world is an honour and a responsibility that I feel quite humbled by.”

“And you are going to teach Herbology?” Pansy said, marking the parchment by the question, even if her mind was at the bottom of her list.

“Yes, it was always the subject I was good at at school, myself.”

“The?” Pansy queried. “Aren’t Aurors supposed to be good at a lot of subjects? Defence Against The Dark Arts, perhaps?”

“Well,” Neville glanced away again, a slight blush to his cheeks. “The first subject I was good at, I should say. I wasn’t great shakes at others until my later years. You’ll remember, I’m sure.”

Which was a remarkably polite way to refer to their interactions in their shared school years. 

“Yes, indeed. But it seems you found your talents when you needed them. Especially at your last year of school, as I’m sure everyone recalls. Do you hope to do the same for you students?”

“Of course. But really it was Harry that...” Neville trialled off speaking. 

“Harry Potter,” Pansy said carefully, “was very much a symbol of the resistance against He Who Must Not Be Named, and yet you were the actual face of the resistance at Hogwarts, an active presence of defiance. I don’t think anyone in attendance of the school at the time would forget you. You were admired by all the witches.” She paused for just a second. “And wizards of the age.”

That seemed to humble Neville into silence and Pansy moved slowly down her questions. She’d opened big and was now forced to ask the smaller questions, favourite memories and hobbies and anecdotes of Aurordom, easing Neville back out into casual speech. Her quill punching little dots by each question as she was finished them until all the official questions had been answered and the only one left was hastily scrawled under the rest in a different, pink, ink. 

“And entirely off the record for my own personal curiosity,” Pansy said quickly, refilling Neville’s cup with tea. “I just have to ask, are the rumours true?”

“I- ah. That would depend on the rumour, wouldn’t it?” Neville said.

“Well yes, but I have mentioned the admiration witches hold you in more than once, haven’t I? Surely you can see where I’m going with this? I’m just wondering if there’s a very good reason why that’s so.”

“Do you write for the _Prophet_ , Ms Parkinson?” Neville said, suddenly formal. “Or is it _Witch Weekly_ , now?”

“Look, I have sources, you know. And they don’t bandy about words like ‘sex god’ lightly!”

Neville came to his feet, round face pink.

“Thank you for the tea,” he said. And fled.

\--

Pansy didn’t see him again for a full fortnight and had half put the interview out of her mind. His loss, plenty of other fish on the line and other cliché were more than enough to conceal any lingering disappointment, if she’d ever felt such a thing. Which she totally didn’t.

Then she ran into him, almost literally. Neville Longbottom was standing just outside her work place. His fine brown hair blowing in the crisp autumn wind. Pansy came to a sudden halt in front of him. He seemed much taller than she remembered.

“Neville!” She exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“I read your interview,” Neville said. 

“Oh really? Did you like it?” Pansy asked.

“You didn’t mention any of that sex god stuff.”

“Well, no,” Pansy said, striving to avoid a puzzled tone. “I told you that was completely off the record. “

“Hmm.”

“What you didn’t believe me?” Pansy said, crossly. 

“I’m sorry, no. I couldn’t think why you’d ask that if you didn’t want to write about it.” 

“Really?” Pansy said with a laugh.

“Well, not at first anyway.”

“And now you’ve had time to think on it. Would you like to revise your answer?” 

There was a blush rising in Neville’s cheeks again but he smiled down on her.

“Well, I couldn’t possibly talk about such thing in public,” he said. “And it seems to me as if I owe you a cup of tea after walking out on the last one. There’s always a kettle on at my flat if you’re interested.”

“Sure,” said Pansy before even thinking it through.

“Shall I Apparate us there?” Neville asked, his hand reaching for her arm. On her nod, his surprisingly firm grip closed on her forearm and he whiskered her away in a smooth Apparation, reappearing on the soft carpet of his flat. 

There was a two person sofa and an armchair that did not match it. There was a kitchenette, fully stocked with the promised kettle and teapot and as well as a small dented cauldron. There was a wizarding wireless, a brass oil lamp and not nearly as many plants as she was expecting.

Pansy usually thought of flats like this as plebeian, but as Neville ushered her down onto the sofa and went to bustle about his teapot, she instead found it rather cosy.

“So.. um.. who exactly has been telling you these things?” Neville said after a while, placing a cup of tea on the side table next to her. “The, ah, performance stuff.”

“Hannah Abbott.”

“Before or after we split up?” he said, sitting on the sofa next to her. Pansy’s eyes flickered to the small gap between them before continuing.

“Luna Lovegood.”

“She has a rather unique perspective.”

“Ginny Potter.”

“Weasley… Y-you mean Weasley, right?”

“You tell me.” 

“No.”

“Let me see… who else? Sally-Anne Perks, one or the other Patil, Hermione Granger.”

“You’re making these up now!” Neville objected.

“Am I?” Pansy said with some asperity. “Do you have some actual problem with being a sex god?” 

“I don’t,” Neville said, there was glint in his eye that suddenly made his small smile seem to mean something much different to Pansy. “But I don’t see why you’d just believe them.”

“It’s an impressive list of witches.”

“Is it?” He leant towards her, his voice become softer, almost husky. “And that’s enough for you, is it?”

“Oh, heck no,” Pansy said, almost unconsciously leaning in as well. Her gaze was locked on his round blue eyes. There was the slightest tinkle in their depths. “Always verify. It’s in the reporter’s code.” 

His lips were soft as he kissed her. He was quite gentle at first. She found herself reaching forward, his hair was smooth and fine and her fingers combed through it without catching. Neville leaned backwards, and unwilling to lose the feel of his lips, Pansy followed him, throwing one leg over his waist. She felt his hands on her legs, steadying her and she kissed him again, her tongue hungrily delving into his mouth. 

Neville’s hands moved upwards, wrapping about her middle and pulling her close to his chest, she could feel the hard muscles under his jumper and as she squirmed his lap, she realised she was practically humping him, the juncture of her legs, resting perfectly placed on his bulging jeans. The delicious effect of the friction was still noticeable even through layers of clothing. 

Pansy threw her head back, not so much wanting to stop kissing him as encouraging him to move his mouth elsewhere. Neville quickly took the hint, layering kisses over her throat and neck. His hands moved to the hem of her top and they broke long enough for him to pull it over her head. Another woman, Pansy thought, might be self-conscious to be caught in her regular bra. After all, the plain number she was wearing was hardly the date night special Pansy had worn to their interview but then Pansy knew she looked good in anything and better in nothing at all.

“Gorgeous,” Neville murmured his eyes barely straying down to her cleavage. But his lips went to her breasts quick enough, even as nimble fingers grasped for its clasp. 

Squirming even more insistently under the feel of his mouth on her breasts and the way his tongue swirled over her hardening nipples, Pansy couldn’t help but let soft whimpering moans escape her open mouth and decided that a distraction was in order. 

“As fun as this is, I’m hoping you’re not planning on fucking me right on the sofa.”

Even the cursing didn’t seem to put him off, he laughed a quick laugh and pointed.

“That one’s the bedroom, if you insist.”

Pansy insisted. Coming to her feet, and forcing them to take her to the bedroom without betraying their shakiness. They kissed as they walked and Pansy’s fingers undid the buttons on his shirt, revealing lean muscle and soft body hair. He’d taken it off entirely and her fingertips were just reaching for the button on his jeans when they reached his bed. His hand caught hers and he gave her a lopsided smile as he deflected it. 

“Not just yet, sweetie,” he said. “Turn around.”

Her heart seemed to skip a beat as she turned to face the bed away from him. He stepped close up behind her, Pansy could feel the closeness of his presence by the warmth on her back. His hands slowly reached around her body to undo the buttons of her trousers, tugging them and her knickers down the long length of her body. Pansy stepped out of them and crawled on to the bed. Hearing with pride Neville’s sharp intake of breath as she waved her round bum at him. She started to look back but....

“Eyes front, Pansy,” Neville said softly.

Strong hands ran up the back of her thighs and gripped her arse cheeks. Pansy gasped as they spread her open and then moaned as quite unexpectedly she felt the tip of a tongue run over her slit.

Neville made a low contented noise, and started to lap at her. His firm grip holding her still as his tongue seemed to pry her apart. She panted as the sensations shot through her, threatening to rob her of breath. Neville’s tongue darted, pushing into her quickly and deeply before retuning to lap and tease at her clit. 

Pansy keened, her head hanging low, even her arms feeling weak, feeling sure Neville must be swimming in wetness by now. It was then she heard the sound of a zipper and the rustle of fabric and felt the bed shift as extra weight was added to it. 

The head of his cock felt wide as he rubbed it against her opening and then he slowly pushed it home in her, Pansy’s fingers dug into the bedspread, clutching tightly at it as she stretched and shifted to accommodate him.

After a couple of short eternities, Neville began to move. His hips rocking back and forth, his cock’s length pulling free of her even as she clenched around it and pushing in again. Pansy panted, deep breaths shuddering through her and she pushed back at him when he thrust, hearing the answering moans and gasps as her motions added to the energy of their coupling. 

Hoisting herself up on her arms, Pansy felt Neville close to her back her again, the hotness of his breath on the back of his neck. The motions of his body becoming slower but harder. 

His arms wrapped around her waist and his face pressed to the crook of her neck, kissing and sucking. One hand cupped a breast and the other descended to between her legs, toying with her clit in time with long powerful thrusts. 

A noise filled the air punctuating the wet noise of the bodies colliding.

“What’s that, Pansy?” Neville said huskily in her ear. Only then did Pansy realise it was her speaking.

“Oh god,” she was chanting. “Oh god, oh god, oh god.”

“I think you have the answer to your question.” Neville forced out between gasps.

Pansy came before she thought of a good retort. Her body trembling as intense waves of pleasure surged out from her cunt, robbing her of functional thought.

 

They lay panting on his quilt for some time, but neither of them of them willing to leave it at just one encounter and as soon as she felt able, Pansy was urging Neville onto his back, one hand working at his mostly hard shaft as she straddled him.

She took her time sinking back down onto his cock, or at least she tried to. She circled her hips, rocking back and forth to enjoy the sensations of rubbing him against her walls rather than just riding herself silly on his cock. 

Her eyes met his. He shouldn’t have looked much at this angle, flat on his back, even less with his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. But there were scars faded but still white against a pink face and his eyes were fierce. Not fierce, she realised but eager; as excited and happy to be passively ridden as he had been to fuck her from behind. 

Neville’s hands rose to her body, his hands were strong and his grip was firm but restrained, they danced over her, squeezing, cupping and caressing her sweaty skin as if it was all special, all sensitive to the touch but never grasping or controlling, letting her move on his cock just the way she wanted. She circled, rose and fell, and never lost sight of those blue eyes gazing up at her reverently, even as her pace quickened and her hair swayed and fell wild across her vision.

She braced herself, hands on his shoulders, leaning over him. Her orgasms rose through her; this time surging and falling in a deliciously drawn out fashion as she jerkily came to a stop and tumbled down into Neville’s arms and bed again. 

 

They slept longer that time, but it was still dark outside when Pansy stirred to feel Neville’s hand on her shoulder. 

“You want another round?” he asked.

“Again?” 

“Only if you want to.” His voice was so earnest she could have laughed. 

“Sure.”

He kissed her, not as coyly as before but confidently, his tongue pushing into her mouth. She rolled back down on his bed as they snogged, her head pushed deep into the pillow beneath. 

Neville moved on top of her, his arms braced either side of her shoulders, their bodies were still slick from their exertions and they had no trouble lining him up with her or in pushing inside her.

Neville thrust; smoothly but quickly. Pansy gasped. She didn’t think she had another orgasm in her, but that didn’t mean that his motions didn’t feel amazing.

She wrapped her arms about him, running her hands down his back. The muscles there were tense and she rubbed at them and massaged them. It wasn’t until she moved her hands downwards to squeeze his arse that a ragged gasp interrupted his measured breathing. 

Smiling, Pansy dug her grip in, fondling and squeezing as he fucked her hard and fast, his tempo and breathing both becoming irregular and discordant.

He buried his face in her hair, his hips working with a desperate urgency.

“Oh god,” he groaned, his voice muffled. “Oh god, oh sweetie. Oh, Pansy.”

And with her name on his lips, his motions stilled as she felt him shake and come, gasping a long sigh of relief as he spilled. 

Arms still wrapped around each other, they rolled to their sides and drifted into a deep sleep. 

\---

Pansy did not usually sleep well in other people’s beds. So it came as a surprise when she slowly came to consciousness, brain still fuzzy and her body felt languid with contentment only to realise that she only had a quarter of an hour until she had to be at work. 

With a mumbled curse she rolled out Neville’s bed and sprang to her feet, grabbing at her clothes. She only had half of them when, giving it up as bad job, she Disapparated to her own apartment. Pansy, not for the first time thanked her lucky stars she had been born a witch and thus was immune to having to do a ‘walk of shame’ (not the Pansy was ever in any way ashamed of herself).

Once home she only had a little time to grab a new outfit, wash her face and reapply make up and deodorant, and simultaneously make coffee and run a brush through her hair.

She sauntered into work with a steaming mug of coffee in one hand, humming a jaunty tune and only ten minutes late and collapsed behind her desk. 

“You’re looking good,” Megan Jones said from the other desk in their minuscule office. Her eyes had a knowing light in them as they ran over Pansy’s mismatched outfit and barely groomed hair.

“Any reason I shouldn’t be?”

“Nothing to do with that rather bashful ex-Auror I saw hanging about the office yesterday?”

“He wanted to talk about his interview.”

“The one where you asked him if he was sex god?”

Pansy just smiled and took a long slip of coffee.

“I’m guessing you got confirmation.”

“You can think that if you like,” Pansy said. “But I couldn’t possibly comment.”


End file.
